


An Exercise in Trust

by Liara_90



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Explicit Consent, F/F, Female Characters, For Me, Mostly Gen, One Night Stands, One Shot, POV Third Person, Post-Volume 3 (RWBY), Rare Pairings, Sexual Content, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: Beacon has fallen, and the Branwen Tribe's usual suppliers of smuggled necessities have gone dry in the ensuing fallout. Desperately needing to procure medical supplies for her people, Raven Branwen makes contact with the one woman who might be able to help her, Mantle's Hometown Hero, Robyn Hill.
Relationships: Raven Branwen/Robyn Hill
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	An Exercise in Trust

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think these two have a ship name yet (they didn’t even have a relationship tag on AO3 when I posted this). [RenaJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaJay/pseuds/RenaJay) proposed “Birds of Prey”, and then immediately asked “ _Whyyy_ ”.
> 
> To which I can only answer: “ _There are those that look at things the way they are, and ask ‘why’? I dream of things that never were, and ask ‘why not’?”_
> 
> I wrote most of this a month or two ago, and finally managed to finish it. The idea of these two characters interacting probably only appeals to me, but in the off chance that someone else enjoys this particular flavor of crack, have at it.

* * *

Raven Branwen was here on business. Gods knew she wouldn’t have stepped foot in a bar blasting Mantle post-grunge otherwise. And while even the dives of Atlas and Mantle usually had a pretty passable selection of alcohols, this was the sort of business trip where she didn’t want to risk dulling her senses. And so Raven Branwen sat at a table, her back to the wall, nursing a bottle of pale horsepiss and wondering why there were so many _kids_ in the bar.

The question vaguely depressed her, because she knew it had nothing to do with the bar patrons getting any younger, and everything to do with her getting _older_. The crowd was pretty heterogeneous, as these things went - a mix of young professionals, newly licensed Huntsmen, and even a few students hiding Atlas Academy uniforms under winter overcoats. Humans and Faunus mingled amicably over cheap drinks and overpriced food, snippets of Mistrali- or Vacuan-accented speech breaking through the din from time to time.

But not one of them looked a day over thirty.

Raven let out a small sigh, and returned to her drink, now almost empty. She’d arrived early - the better to get a feel for the layout, to get a read on the crowd - but that had been over an hour ago, and sooner or later she was going to have to pee. Given the state of the establishment’s facilities, that was yet another reason to go easy on the cheap beers.

At the far end of the bar, the live band took a smattering of applause as an excuse for an encore.

Raven ordered a second drink after all.

The band - three Faunus and the world’s scrawniest human, from what she could tell - laid into their next piece, heavy on power chords and extended riffs. A few sequences seemed to sample old Faunus folk melodies, repurposed and reapplied by the underclass of Atlas. The vocals, from what Raven could make out, were about ending the cycle of exploitation, stealing from the rich, revolutionizing the poor. She could make out the name _Schnee_ being dropped once or thrice, and by the time her waitress returned with her drink, the crowd was hooting and jeering along.

The song concluded with a final smash of a cymbal, and this time, applause followed heartily. Raven leaned back in her chair, watching everyone who was watching the band, trying to gauge the mood. Wondering what dear old Jimmy would do if he discovered he had a bona fide _protest movement_ blossoming underfoot. Almost literally.

A young woman - a sheep Faunus, by the look of her ears - nervously made her way on to the stage, a microphone in her hand. “Thank you, thank y-” the crowd winced as audio feedback hummed through the room. “.... s-sorry about that. I just wanted to remind you all that the UnderMiners will be playing _next weekend_ at the Shyrwood. All the proceeds of which will be going to help the Vale resettlement efforts!” Judging by her exclamation, the woman had been anticipating more than the polite smattering of applause that followed. She cleared her throat. “And now I’ll hand the mic over, to, um, Robyn!”

The UnderMiners began the pump-up chorus to “Stealing from the Titans”, prompting a much more enthused applause as Miss Robyn Hill threaded her way through the crowd.

Raven leaned forward, watching as Robyn strode on to the stage, exchanging a few words with the woman who’d introduced her. She looked like she was around thirty, light blond hair tied in a practical-yet-stylish ponytail. Her attire was similarly sensible, with none of the flamboyance typical of most Huntresses. She looked alert without being nervous, projected strength but not danger.

In other words, she looked like a woman Raven Branwen could do business with.

Robyn and her M.C. were speaking, just out of range of the microphone, as the UnderMiners began winding down. Right before the reverberations of the last strum faded Robyn pecked the smaller woman on the lips, sending her scampering off stage. And then she took the mic, cradling it comfortably in her hands.

Some part of Raven’s mind distantly noted a missing finger on each of Robyn’s gloves.

“Thank you very much, Fiona. Thank you, everyone. This has really been a great night.” Robyn swayed back and forth on the stage for a few seconds, pausing to ensure that she had her audience’s full attention. “I’ll try to keep this quick, because who else has to be up at five o’clock tomorrow?”

Robyn raised one arm overhead, and there were a few appreciative hoots from the crowd.

“Like Fiona said, in a couple of days we’re going to be having our weekend-long concert in support of Vale. Even if you can’t make it to the show - and you absolutely should, it has probably the best lineup I’ve ever seen - I’m hoping you’ll be able to support the Vale relief effort. I know we still don’t know what exactly happened - the Powers That Be haven’t bothered to let us nobodies know anything yet -”

Even unnamed, Ironwood drew hackles and jeers.

“- but we do know this: the people of Vale are hurting. From what my people have been able to piece together so far, it looks like a large chunk of the city have been completely overrun by Grimm. Including Beacon Academy.”

The room grew quieter, almost still. A major city hadn’t been overrun by Grimm in almost a generation - such calamities were the plotlines of comic books and horror movies. But it was still the worst nightmare of every inhabitant of Remnant, and for some of them, it had just come true.

“I know a lot of people have been saying that this is a problem for the Kingdoms, for Atlas, to deal with. And it is.” Robyn’s eyes swept the room. “But the simple fact is they’re moving too slowly. Or not at all. They care more about what happened to their communications towers than to the people living under them.” Raven caught just the faintest hint of accusation in her tone, playing on the guilt that many in the bar would have felt for thinking, at least for a _moment_ , just the same way.

“And it’s true, we can’t fix Vale on our own. Hell, we can’t even fix everything in Mantle.” A few polite chuckles. “But the people of Vale are suffering, and we can do our part to help them. That’s all I can ask of you.” There was another long pause, as Robyn stood with her mouth half-open, cradling the microphone in her hand. “... _thank you_.”

There were actual cheers this time, and Robyn was halfway off the stage before the band started up again. Raven’s eyes were still following Robyn when someone rasped her table.

“She’ll see you now,” said a woman with long blue hair, dressed in the same earthen tones as Robyn. An Academy graduate, most likely, old enough to have spent some time in the field. She was wearing an emblem with the same insignia as Robyn had worn, Raven noticed, that of a simple white bird. One which was unmistakable _not_ a dove. “Don’t waste her time.”

Raven barely suppressed an eyeroll. She drained the last of her bottle and rose to her feet, leaving a few lien on the table as she left. The young woman escorted her through the bar - which had become considerably livelier, abuzz with conversation - to a small door in the back, prominently labeled STAFF ONLY. The door was ajar, and Raven’s escort rasped her knuckles against it, causing the door to swing a few degrees inward.

Robyn Hill stood in what looked like a small office, complete with a desk, two chairs, and a potted plant that had long ago died of neglect. She was standing behind the desk, beside Fiona, the two of them pouring over what looked like a schedule of some sort.

“Robyn? Your... _guest_... is here.” A guest who was none-too-gently pushing her way into the room.

Robyn’s eyes darted up, catching Raven’s. Raven matched her gaze. Gone was the comfortable warmth she’d exuded up on stage, the pretense of personability. Her features were schooled into a practiced poker face, but there was no hiding the weariness in those eyes. “I thought I saw an unfamiliar face in the crowd.”

“I haven’t patted her down, do you want me to-”

“That won’t be necessary, May.” She returned her attention to Raven. “Though I would ask that you leave your sword outside. As a sign of trust.”

From the combative look in May’s eyes, she was either expecting or _hoping_ that Raven would protest.

But Raven didn’t, simply unfastening the belt her scabbarded sword was attached to. “Careful with that,” she said, as she handed Omen over to May. “It’s sharp.”

May shot her the dirtiest of scowls, which earned her a small smile from Raven. “We’ll be _right outside_ if you need us, Robyn.”

Fiona glanced at Robyn, who nodded her confirmation. “Go. I’ll be fine,” she promised, brushing Fiona’s hair as she did. Fiona made a soft _humm_ of acknowledgement, then followed May out the door.

“Word of advice,” Raven began, dropping herself into the chair opposite Robyn’s, “be careful with all that public affection.”

“I’m not ashamed about my relationship with Fiona,” Robyn replied, lowering herself into her own seat. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It’s not about shame, it’s about _safety_. You have enemies, and they’re going to see her as a weakness. A _target_.”

Robyn shuffled a few papers on her desk, whisking them out of Raven’s sight. “I don’t have enemies.”

Raven snorted. “Well, keep up all that ‘Powers That Be’ stuff, and you _will_.”

“I’m sorry, is this a personal security consult? Because I was under the impression that you wanted a favor from me.”

The room cooled a little. “I don’t need a favor. I’m here to make a deal.”

“Yes. For medical supplies.” Robyn folded her hands in front of her. “Bandages, antibiotics, antivenoms, painkillers...”

“Correct. And our mutual friend said you could source them.” There were at least two lies in Raven’s reply, though they were mostly _white_. Their connection was not a mutual one, nor would they have been considered a _friend_ by either party. But over the past two decades Raven had built a surprisingly broad network of the ne’er-do-wells of Remnant, and she just so happened to know someone who knew someone who moved in the same neglected circles as the Happy Huntresses.

“Right, Miss… Muninn, was it? Sorry if I’m butchering the pronunciation, that’s not a common name around here.”

“No, it isn’t,” Raven agreed. “It also isn’t real.”

Robyn rubbed her forehead. “Well, I appreciate your honesty,” she replied, a little tartly. “Though you’ll forgive me if I’m a little suspicious.”

Raven shrugged. “I pay in cash. What else do you care?”

“Because you want to get your hands on enough medical supplies to support a small town for years. Or…” Robyn leaned forward, lacing her fingers beneath her chin “...you’re trying to turn them into drugs.”

The room was quiet enough that Raven realized that there must have been a clock in it somewhere, _ticking_ away.

“ _Drugs_ ,” Raven finally half-asked, half-stated.

Now it was Robyn’s turn to shrug. “You wouldn’t be the first. I know there’s a dozen ways to make stims from over-the-counter medicine, if you can get enough of them. Problem is… most people can’t.”

Raven exhaled very slowly. As downright _insulted_ as she was at the insinuation that she was a petty drug dealer, there was more at stake than her pride right now. “I need the medicine for my people. Vale made more medical products than the rest of Remnant combined, and now that the Grimm have overrun it, there’s a supply crunch.”

“Have you tried petitioning your Kingdom for assistance?” Robyn asked, though was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

And Raven looked pretty annoyed that she was being asked the question. “We don’t really _have one_ , as you’ve probably guessed.”

Robyn gave a small nod of affirmation. “You live in the wilderness.”

“It’s only _wilderness_ if you don’t know how to live in it,” Raven bit back.

Robyn flashed her palms. “I didn’t mean it like an insult. And I’ve spent some time living outside of the city walls.”

“Then you know how hard it is to get basic necessities out there.” Raven leaned forward, the leather of her gauntlets _creaking_ softly as she did. “The smugglers we usually work with have either all been arrested, gone to ground, or are selling closer to home.”

“And what makes you think _I_ can get you the supplies you need?” Robyn asked, cautiously.

“Let’s just say a little bird told me.”

Raven’s smile showed her teeth.

Robyn strummed her fingers on her desk for several seconds, before standing up. “Take a walk with me. _May_ , can you give our guest her sword back.”

The door creaked open, and May returned, holding Omen by the middle of its sheathe. She didn’t let go of it when Raven grabbed it.

“Play nice,” Robyn chided, dragging her chair to the far side of the room.

May released her hold on the weapon, which Raven proceeded to fix around her hips once more.

“ _So_ ,” she asked, once her straps were properly affixed again, “where’re we going?”

With a loud _creak_ , a trapdoor beneath Robyn’s desk was swung open. “ _Down_.”

* * *

“These tunnels used to be used by smugglers, you know,” Robyn said, ducking her head to avoid scraping against the ceiling. “Apparently after they were done building the funiculars to link the Port of Mantle to Terminus Station, someone made off with most of the drilling equipment. Used it to build these passages that go _right under_ Customs control.” She sidestepped a pool of stagnant water. “Or so the story goes.”

“Anyone still use them?” Raven asked, splashing through the same puddle as she did. The tunnels were dark, illuminated only by bare bulbs strung overhead at irregular intervals. The only clues as to their location came in the form of markings on the walls, spray-painted in something luminescent.

“I couldn’t say,” Robyn replied, in a tone of voice that Raven knew was just a _little_ too even. “Some of the ones further east were turned into a tourist attraction, though, if you want to relive the Golden Age of Smugglers. But a lot of the branches have either collapsed or flooded over the years.”

“Still seems useful. Like if you wanted to avoid Ironwood’s flying robots.”

Robyn made an affirmative _humm_ , but didn’t take the bait. They walked in silence for the rest of the trip.

“ _RB-24110_. This should be it,” Robyn finally declared, using her Scroll to illuminate the markings on the wall. There was a rusting ladder propped up against it, positioned beneath what looked like a manhole cover. She gestured with her hand. “Age before beauty.”

And also the fact that Robyn didn’t _entirely_ trust Raven not to stab her in the back, even if she’d returned her weapon to her. But Raven humored her, climbing up the ladder and sliding the manhole cover aside with a _grunt_.

The cold, crisp air was a welcome relief after twenty-odd minutes in the tunnels. They looked like they were in a service alley of some sort, and nary a soul in sight. It sounded - and smelled - like they were near water, but they were ringed in by warehouses, blocking any view. Raven turned around, offering her hand to Robyn as the latter ascended the ladder. Robyn took it, letting herself be pulled up…

“...Are you _really_ going to use these supplies _just_ to help your people?”

Robyn was still holding Raven’s hand, small stretches of bare skin brushing against one another.

Raven looked at Robyn, peering into her with those deep red eyes. “ _Yes_.”

Something shimmered green. Raven broke their grip.

Robyn stood, momentarily stunned, as Raven walked a few steps away. “ _Wow_.”

“Did you think I was lying?” Raven turned her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder. The pale light of the moon gave her an almost ghostly look.

Robyn exhaled through her nose. “Yes. At least partially.” She crouched down, sliding the manhole cover back into place.

Neither woman said anything for several seconds. A gale gently buffeted Raven’s hair, black strands blowing in the wind. “So we’re in business.” Her tone did not make it much of a question.

“Yes. That’s why I brought you here.”

Robyn and Raven weaved between warehouses. There was less activity than normal - freight trade had slowed to a crawl until the situation in Vale was figured out - but they still waited in the shadows of alleys as cargo-laden trucks drove past them. A few minutes later, they climbed atop a small warehouse, from where they could see an expanse of dockyards below.

“ _There_ ,” said Robyn, pointing with her finger. “See that tarmac there?”

Raven did. A bleak expanse of asphalt, fenced-in and ringed with razor-wire. It was brightly illuminated by banks of stadium lights, its gates and ground patrolled by spit polished Atlesian Knights.

“That isn’t part of the Port of Atlas, not technically. It’s a cargo terminal owned by some Schnee shell company. _Very_ slick operation. See that truck coming towards the gates? Follow it.”

The process was so smooth that it could have been favorably compared to clockwork. The truck didn’t even slow down as it approached the cargo terminal’s gates, which swung open with barely a second to spare. Which meant machine drivers, machine guards. Raven watched as the truck drove along a straight line, seemingly going nowhere, for several long seconds.

She turned to glance at Robyn, but Robyn’s eyes were still looking forward. “ _There_. And right on schedule, too.” Raven turned back just in time to see the operation. “These things have a real name, but everyone down here calls them _Dragonflies_.”

The nomenclature was obvious. A small airplane, with elongated, insect-like wings, seemed to swoop down out of the night sky, directly in line with the truck. Their speeds matching perfectly, Raven could just barely make out small, mechanical appendages unfold around the trailer of the truck. For a second it almost looked like the two vehicles were mating, but then the Dragonfly lifted _off_ and _up_. The truck’s trailer was now securely attached to the Dragonfly’s underbelly, and the aircraft soared into clouds, like a bird of prey taking its catch back to its nest.

The truck circled around, and headed back to the dockyards.

“That’s how they get cargo up to Atlas,” Raven deduced, tracking the Dragonfly until it vanished in the night sky.

“One way, at least,” Robyn agreed. “And without any need for pesky humans along the way.”

“So what’s the plan? Hijack one of those mid-flight?” Raven asked.

Robyn her eyebrows, and then extended her hand, bare finger wiggling. “Okay, you _have_ to tell me if you’re joking or not.”

Raven snorted, and folded her arms. “Unless you have a better plan.”

Robyn lowered her hand - not without some measure of disappointment on her face - and pulled out her Scroll. “Do you remember the first generation of Atlesian Knights?”

“The -130s? Or the buggy ones before that?”

“The latter.”

Raven shrugged. “They went haywire sometimes.”

“Right. Specifically, they thought _everything_ was Grimm. Like you could spray paint the outline of an Ursa on a wall, and they’d spend twenty minutes shooting it before someone figured out how to override them.”

STRQ had been out in the field when that particular shit show had unfolded, but Raven remembered the cleanup.

“The new Knights aren’t much better, honestly. That’s what happens when you’re built by the lowest bidder. If you know what points and lines their little computer brains are looking for, you can make them think they’re seeing anything. Like right now-”

Robyn raised her Scroll, which shot a beam of light out like a projector, splashing against a distant warehouse wall. The projected image resolved into a formless pattern of dots and curves, like a Mistrali Syncretic painting, triggering something _deep_ in the algorithmic unconscious.

“-those toy soldiers are convinced they’re seeing a fire.”

Raven watched, bemused, as the Knights sprung to life, scurrying around like panicked ants. Within a minute another robotized firetruck appeared on the scene, spraying a torrent of water against a decidedly non-combusting wall.

Robyn killed the projection. The two women watched for several minutes as the robots went through the motions of a post-inferno damage assessment, pausing and stuttering as the incoming data perplexed them. A few minutes later an actual flesh and blood supervisor showed up, his annoyance visible even from their distant perch.

“This happens surprisingly often. Not that you’d read about it in the press, of course. All that corporate liability stuff is just swept under the rug.”

“That’s a neat trick,” Raven said, leaning back on her arms. “You must be the envy of every thirteen-year old prankster in Remnant.”

“Listen, do you want those supplies or-”

Raven held up a hand. “Yes. Go on.”

That seemed to mollify Robyn. “The Dragonflies work on the same principles, so they have the same flaws. If you can get a big holographic projector, like the kind they use for light shows or outdoor planetariums…”

Raven tilted her head. “What do we make it see?”

Robyn exhaled slowly, as if reluctant to reveal a secret. “Grimm. Griffons, specifically. We know that if a Dragonfly sees - or _thinks_ it sees - Grimm, it’s programmed to automatically ditch its cargo and return to the nearest base.”

A short laugh escaped Raven. “That fucking simple.”

“It’s harder than it sounds,” Robyn said. “But, broadly, _yes_. And the best part is, it’s just written off as a software glitch. If the cargo lands outside of city limits, nobody even tries to collect it.”

Raven remained still for several seconds. Robyn peered sideways at her, but Raven’s face gave no clue as to what she was thinking. Then, finally, her lips parted. “Alright. It’s a good plan. Where do you have to position the projector for this to work? Somewhere near the city limits, right?”

Robyn nodded. “From the only 24-hour jacuzzi in Mantle.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

* * *

Robyn was serious.

They retraced their steps through the Port’s warehouses, back down into the tunnels, then further along, popping up into what passed for Mantle’s red-light district. After a few minute’s trek they made their way to a truly one-star-worthy hotel, where a Faunus receptionist with racconish features booked them in under fake names.

To Raven’s mild relief, while the hotel _did_ have an ‘always open’ jacuzzi, it was not, in fact, where their operation was being based out of. That would be Room 317 - which Robyn had explicitly requested - a one-bed abode with peeling wallpaper and sheets that had once been white.

“This is where we’ll do it,” Robyn said, cracking open the door to the very small balcony. “Flight Corridor AW-2. Joanna will bring the projector here first thing in the morning. There’s a shipment of medical supplies bound for Atlas General at 0650, so your people will have it on the ground at… 065 _1_.”

Robyn had assumed that Raven wasn’t alone in Mantle, that she’d have helpers who could quickly collect the supplies on the ground. In point of fact, Raven’s plan was simply to generate a portal to Vernal, to whom she would shovel her ill-gotten gains, using her Semblance like a magical garbage chute.

Raven watched as Robyn traced an invisible flight trajectory with her finger. “Takes off… takes off… _imaginary Grimm_ …. Cargo gets jettisoned right on the south slope of Mt. Thynghowe. The Dragonfly won’t be more than a hundred or so feet off the ground when we hit it, so the cargo pod might even stay intact. No guarantees, though.”

Robyn belatedly realized that Raven wasn’t staring at her invisible lines in the sky, but at _her_. With an intensity of focus that was just a little disconcerting. “What, do I have something on my face?” She’d meant it to sound like a joke, but her tone was flat.

“I want to make sure that you don’t have any reservations about this,” Raven said, bluntly. “That you’re not going to have a change of heart at the last minute. That all this talk about stealing medical supplies hasn’t _burdened your conscience_.”

Robyn looked equal parts hurt and offended. “First off - this whole operation has been my idea from the beginning. And my _conscience_ -” she put deliberate emphasis on the word “-is clear. These are supplies that are going to sit in a storeroom in Atlas until they reach their expiration date, and then get incinerated. _Atlas_ will be resupplied before anyone even notices anything’s missing.”

She deflated a little after that. “Come on. We’ve got time to kill.”

* * *

There were not, unfortunately, a lot of ways to kill time, given that Raven vehemently vetoed Robyn’s suggestion that they _really should_ check out the jacuzzi. (Robyn had been mostly joking, but it was fun drawing out that reaction). And so Robyn ended up raiding the mini fridge, sampling the small bottles as she flipped through channels on the room’s tiny television.

She took the bed, and Raven the couch. She tried striking up a few different conversations, but Raven wasn’t really one for small talk, and Robyn soon abandoned her efforts. The news was all the same depressing stuff, except that there was nothing new out of Vale, so the talking heads were just regurgitating the same tired analyses and arguments. Most sports games had been cancelled. And the only movie she could find was some truly terrible Spruce Willis family comedy.

Eventually - out of equal parts boredom and hunger - she trekked back down to the lobby, raiding the vending machine for some semblance of sustenance. She returned to their room - arms burdened with bags of chips and one very-dubious looking sandwich - only to find the door to the bathroom closed and the shower audibly running.

“You in there?” she called out, dumping her haul of snacks on the bedspread.

“ _Showering_. And that’s not an invitation,” Raven called back.

Robyn suppressed a snort, though that wasn’t where her mind had gone. For a moment, she had remembered all those cheap action stories where someone made a daring escape by pretending to be preoccupied in the bathroom. But now that she looked around, she saw that Raven’s sword was still there, propped up against an arm of the couch, which was currently covered in clothing.

Raven emerged a few minutes later, wearing only a long black shirt that went halfway down her thighs. Her hair was still damp, plastered against her head, bare feet slapping the floor. And for an instance, Robyn couldn’t help but gawk. The way Raven just _carried_ herself was so unlike almost anyone Robyn had ever seen, with a confidence drawn from conviction. And, of course, she was undeniably beautiful. Not in the form-molded femininity of Atlas, not _pretty_ or _cute_ or even _gorgeous_. _Beautiful_ like a waterfall, a storm, a wave crashing against a rock, something untamed and uncontrolled and still _free_.

Robyn coughed, hurriedly returning her attention to Omen.

“Your sword,” she began, delicately touching the casing. “It’s not standard issue, is it?”

Raven cast a sideways glance at her. “No. It’s a custom piece. And not a toy,” she added pointedly, as Robyn spun one of its Dust cylinders with her finger.

Robyn scowled. “I’m not a kid, _thank you_.”

“No, you’re a grown woman who should know better than to touch other people’s weapons.” Raven began rummaging through her clothes, as if looking for something. “Wouldn’t want to see your pretty face get blown off because you touched the wrong Dust chamber.”

“Aww, you think my face is pretty?” Robyn had meant it as a sardonic jab, but the mini bottles of alcohol she’d imbibed made it come out a little more playfully than she’d consciously intended.

Raven stood in profile, staring at Robyn with that same, unflinching gaze of hers. “Yes. You’re quite beautiful, actually.”

Robyn blinked, taken aback at the blunt earnestness of Raven’s words. “Hang on - are you _flirting_ with me?”

Raven barked out a laugh. “No. Gods, I don’t even _remember_ how to flirt anymore.” She idly mused that she might never have known in the first place, if her romance with Taiyang was anything to go by.

Robyn smiled a little, then scooted back on the bed. Raven eyed her cautiously from her perch on the couch, which her long legs were presently dangling off of. “Come here. I want to try to get some sleep before we do this, so you’re going to put my mind at ease.”

Robyn held out her hand.

With a small sigh, Raven sat upright on the couch, and then crossed the short distance to Robyn’s bed, seating herself just on the edge of it.

She took her hand.

Robyn stared into Raven’s eyes, and cleared her throat. “Do you have any plans to harm me, or any members of my group?”

Raven scowled. “No.”

Their hands shimmered green.

“Do you have any plans to cheat me, defraud me, or betray me in any way?”

Raven rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “No.”

The link shimmered green.

“Do you intend to follow the plan as I described it?”

“Yes.”

Still green.

Robyn exhaled, and broke the connection. Her Semblance taxed her Aura pretty heavily, but the peace of mind was more than worth it.

“That’s a useful Semblance you have, isn’t it?” Raven mused, as Robyn pulled her sweater over her head. “Must make building an organization a lot easier, never having to worry about spies or traitors.”

Robyn shrugged off her pants. “Do you worry about spies and traitors a lot?”

“Not really,” Raven conceded. “My people don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Robyn sat silently, watching as Raven’s eyes seemed to play across her bare legs, her expression as unreadable as ever. And then Raven stood up, plucking one of the last of the mini bottles from the fridge.

“How long have you been doing it?” Robyn asked, as Raven dropped herself beside her on the bed, eyes scanning the local traffic and weather report.

“What?”

“Leading.”

The cap of the bottle popped off. “Twenty years. Or close enough.” She took a sip, one arm propped up behind her. “You?”

Robyn shuffled on the bed. “I don’t know. We started calling ourselves the _Happy Huntresses_ a few years ago. Before that I was my Team Captain.”

“‘Course you were.” Raven took a swig of her bottle.

“I guess what I want to ask… what I want to _know_ is…. does it get easier?”

The hotel room was silent, perfectly still but for the spinning blades of the fan overhead.

“Yeah,” Raven finally answered, returning to her drink. “For a while you’re constantly second-guessing yourself, questioning every decision you made. Every time something goes wrong you blame your own incompetence, you want to quit, _run away_.” The bottle dangled from her fingertips, amber liquid sloshing around inside.

“And…”

“ _And_ nothing,” Raven said. “You either learn to live with that, or you break. My advice-” she jabbed a finger Robyn’s way “-figure out which one you’re going to do before you get in too deep.”

Robyn let out a groan, and fell back on the bed. “I didn’t sign up to be Mantle’s Hometown Hero, you know?” she said, eyes still closed. “Hell, it was just a stupid nickname from when we were doing the Vytal Tournament.”

“You were in the Vytal Tournament?” Raven asked, tilting her head in a rare display of genuine interest.

“Hm? Yeah. Made it to the semi-finals, but Vale was crazy strong that year.” She propped herself up against the headboards. “You?”

Raven glanced at her now-empty bottle, twisting it by its short neck. “No. My team was always too busy with some other shit.”

It was the smallest of concessions, but Robyn noted it. An admission that the woman sharing her room had once been a Huntress. That wasn’t exactly surprising - nobody else would bother with anything other than bog standard weaponry - but it was a gesture of trust all the same.

“What, was your team so obsessed getting good grades that they wouldn’t take time to compete?” Atlas Academy had had its fair share of teams that cared more about their GPAs than their actual combat skills.

Raven snorted. “You could literally not be more wrong.” During their last semester, Summer Rose was probably the only member of STRQ who had even opened a textbook.

“Ooh, so you were all crazy badasses, then,” Robyn induced. She shuffled forward on the bed, reaching for a small bag of chips. “ _Running_ off doing secret missions all the time. You must be some sort of dark and mysterious and beautiful badass.”

Ravens eyebrows rose. “Are _you_ flirting with _me_?”

Robyn tore the bag of chips open, dropping something salt-and-vinegar-y in her mouth. “Unlike you, apparently, I actually remember what flirting is.”

“Mm-hm?” Raven asked, stealing a chip from Robyn’s bag.

“Yeah. You start by telling someone how pretty they are. Tell jokes, make casual touches, that sort of thing.”

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Raven replied, dryly. She grabbed another bottle from the fridge, then dropped back onto the bed next to Robyn. “And what do you do if you want a one-night stand?”

“Go to a bar, have some drinks, and take ‘em back to a hotel,” Robyn replied, propping herself up on some pillows so that she could match Raven’s repose. “Or are you one of those super serious types who never mix business and pleasure?”

Raven’s hand found its way to Robyn’s jaw, her thumb brushing over the younger woman’s cheek. “Please tell me this whole operation isn’t some elaborate setup to get me into a hotel bed.”

Robyn batted Raven’s hand away. “It wasn’t. I’d prove it with my Semblance, but it doesn’t work when I use it on myself.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Honestly, I thought you were running some convoluted scam to source precursors. But…”

Raven’s hand returned, stroking at her hair. “ _But_.”

“ _But_ you weren’t. And I don’t need my Semblance to know that you’re not just a petty drug dealer.” Robyn’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as she leaned into Raven’s caresses. “You’re strong. You’re confident. And you have a _presence_ about you, you know that? This _intensity_ of will.” Her eyes opened again. “And, honestly, it’s pretty fucking hot.”

They kissed.

It wasn’t bad, as first kisses went. Both women leaned into it at almost the same time, equally giver and receiver. Raven’s thumb continued playing over the side of Robyn’s face as she did, while the Happy Huntress curled a leg around Raven’s.

“You haven’t forgotten that,” Robyn teased, smiling softly as she did.

And so they kissed again. And this time they pulled closer, limbs tangling in sheets, skin pressing against skin. And then Raven rolled atop Robyn, black hair cascading around her head.

“You’re little Faunus friend won’t mind?” she asked, lowering herself slowly so that she was almost lying on top of Robyn.

“Fiona? No.” She craned her neck to kiss Raven, before wrestling the woman back to her respective pillow. “Our relationship isn’t _ex-exclusive_.”

The last word came out stammered, because Raven’s hand had slid up Robyn’s thigh, and begun brushing over her vulva. “Oh?”

“It’s pretty open. We give each other love and affection, but there’s no claim to… to _ownership_. Given how busy we are, it works out… works out _oh don’t stop_.”

Raven snorted, and continued her gentle strokes of Robyn’s folds, which she had unthinkingly slowed. Robyn’s fingers were already gripping the bed sheet. Raven recognized _desire_ when it was practically being thrown in her face.

She found a handful of Robyn’s hair, fingers curling around the long, blond strands, tightening slowly. Just a whisper of pain, just enough to get the endorphins coursing. ‘ _The way Summer liked it_.’ She began pressing inwards with the fingers of her free hand, felt the slick sensation of arousal.

Robyn’s hand joined Raven’s, steadying Raven’s pace, applying badly needed pressure to her clitoris. One of Raven’s fingers slipped inside, then a second, curling and stroking, distant muscle memory reminding her of how this was done.

But Robyn was not a difficult woman to please, her needs were straightforward to satiate. Gentle hair-tugging and firm strokes brought her to the edge of climax, where Raven held her for long, _agonizing_ seconds. Raven watched as Robyn’s heels dug into the mattress, as her hips thrust in a desperate quest for more pressure.

And Raven finally gave it, that last ounce of pressure. Robyn’s fingers curled around Raven’s arm, her nails digging into it, her breaths coming out in an orgasm-induced staccato.

Robyn’s eyes fluttered opened a few seconds later. “ _Fuck_ , that was good,” she groaned. “Pass me the water.”

Raven complied, handing Robyn her water bottle, from which the woman drank greedily. And then she sunk into the pillow. “That was _much_ better than I thought it’d be.”

“I’d like to take credit,” Raven said, prying the water bottle from Robyn’s limp fingers, “but you were already pretty worked up.”

Robyn blew out a breath. “Yeah. Things have been pretty hectic on the home front lately. And sometimes you just need some emotionally uncomplicated fucking. Now come on.”

She slid lower on the bed, and then sideways, so that she was resting between Raven’s legs. “You don’t have anything I should worry about, right?”

“No,” Raven replied, allowing her knees to drift open. Robyn slid forward. “You can check with your Semblance if you like.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she replied, with an easy smile. One of the underappreciated perks of her Semblance was that once someone _knew_ what it did, they were much less likely to lie to her, ever. Not when the truth was just a handshake away. “Ready?”

“Was never really big on foreplay,” Raven answered.

“You’re missing out,” mused Robyn, as she began kissing her way up Raven’s leg. “Now…”

Robyn grabbed Raven’s panties, tugging them down and over her legs. Raven’s pubic hairs prickled against her face as she began licking and sucking. She wasn’t particularly practiced in the art of cunnilingus - Fiona tended to get too self-conscious to give her many opportunities to practice - but passion could paper over most shortfalls in technique.

Despite the fact that Raven had gone far ( _far_ ) longer without release than Robyn had, she took much longer to get off. Partly due to Robyn’s unfamiliar technique, mostly due to the fact that, despite everything they’d done together, Raven was still struggling to unwind, to let her guard down.

But she did, slowly, and she was wordlessly grateful for Robyn’s persistence. Her hands rested on Robyn’s head, fingers threading through her hair, her grip slowly and slowly _tightening-_

Raven climaxed so quietly that Robyn didn’t even notice, not until she felt Raven gently but firmly pushing her back.

Robyn slid up beside Raven, gently nuzzling against the older woman’s face. She felt spent, physically and mentally, though the good kind of spent, like after a hard day of training. The exhaustion that accompanied growth.

She breathed in Raven’s scent.

Raven gently cradled the Happy Huntress, one arm wrapping around her. The television was still on, mutely running through its endless cycle of five-day weather forecasts and construction-induced traffic delays. Raven’s chest rose and fell in slow intervals, her eyes fixed on the spinning blades of the fan overhead.

She felt Robyn stir a little beside her, already falling asleep. Without turning her head, Raven let her finger brush against her companion’s cheek. Robyn was a genuinely good woman, she believed, an endangered species in these times. A little naïve, a little too trusting, but certainly not _weak_ , not by any definition.

“You’re actually a lot like Summer…”

“That’s a new one,” Robyn murmured back, adjusting herself against Raven’s chest. “Always thought of myself more as _spring_. ‘Rebirth’ and ‘new beginnings’ and all that.” 

Raven stayed silent, thankful that Robyn didn’t seem to have noticed how she’d frozen for a long moment there. And then she resumed stroking the heroine’s hair, trying to push unwelcome thoughts out of mind.

Robyn was already softly snoring beside her. Raven glanced at the bedside clock, and forced her own eyes shut.

They had a few hours still until they had to leave.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback of any sort is welcomed, comments are appreciated whenever you find this fic.
> 
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